Val's tiny fanfiction compilation
by GingerTips
Summary: Salutations! I've put all the stories I write to make my friends cry in this one little story. Various ships, mostly Peterick. (will contain death, no smut. Triggering throughout.)
1. Chapter 1

**Salutations, loyal readers! I am indeed alive, but haven't touvhed my computer and lost track of the days so far this summer. I am sorry to say that as of right now I will not be uploading Fangs any longer due to my situation. I just can't write anymore unless I'm on my iPod, and I only write Fangs on the computer. So I've decided to make a story of the little tiny fanfcitions I make to text my friends, Hannah and Lea. I will stow them all in the overhead compartment, just kidding this isn't a plane. But I shall stow them in this place. Some are entirely random ships, but as of right now it is only Peterick. I am working on another to send my friends so you cann look forward to that. Just in case you don't know, Peterick is the pairing of Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump, bass player and lead singer of Fall Out Boy. I will always specify what genre of writing and ship it is in the beginning of the chapter so you won't be reading something you don't like. Thank you guys for understanding my situation and the people who PMed me and are kind to me on here. It means a lot, it really does. In other news, my birthday recently passed and I am currently 13 years of age. Yay. I feel like Rachel Tice's sister when I say that I am one year closer to death. xD Okay let's cut the chit chat. Thank you guys again and I apologize immensely. Without further ado, the first story on my collection.**

**[Genre:angst, (death, triggering)] [Ship: Peterick]**

A Few Broken Petals

I sat on the bathroom floor, which just so happened to be soaked with my own blood and tears. I felt pain. It hurt. I can't really ever make finished thoughts when I'm doing these sorts of things, it usually just kind of numbs my mind while I make everything better. I dug deep with my blade, watching as the blood trickled to my elbow. Ow. I could feel my eyeliner caking my eyelids and water line, I would have to fix that.

I heard the front door open. Oh dear god he can't be home yet.

"Pete?" I heard him call.

Fuck.

"Uh, one second!" I yelled hastily as I began cleaning up.

"Where are you?" he called from the direction of my room. Fuck.

"I'll be out in a second!" Oh jesus I'm still bleeding. Looks like Mr. Favorite Sweatshirt would have to say bye.

I put a layer of toilet paper along my arm just in case there was the chance of saving Mr. Sweatshirt and then I rolled down my sleeve.

I opened the door to Pat standing there. smiling. His hands were behind his back, obviously hiding something.

"I got you something," he said with a small grin. I smiled wide.

He pulled his arms from behind his back to reveal a rose.

I gasped and took it gingerly from his hand, careful not to touch any of the thorns.

"Oh, I think you poked yourself with a thorn, you're bleeding," Pat said, and my eyes went wide as I saw a spot of red on my jacket.

"Shit," I muttered, knowing Mr. Sweatshirt was a goner.

"I'll go get you a bandaid and clean it up," Pat said, already on his way to the first aid kit, but I pulled him back and into a hug.

"No, I'll be fine," I said quickly, "Thank you for the rose. It's so pretty."

"Only the best for you," he giggled, kissing my cheek quickly.

I smiled, walking into the kitchen to get a vase.

"Are you sure you're alright, that's a lot of blood," Pat commented, and I looked down at my sleeve to see that the blood had formed a slight pool on my sleeve, staining it a rusty red. Damn.

"I'll be fine." I plucked a tall cup from the cabinet, filling it with water and plopping the rose in.

"Are you sure, I mean it's a lot of blood. Here let me see," He moved to pull down my sleeve and I flinched, sending the cup tumbling to the floor, landing with a miserable shatter. The petals were crushed by the thick glass falling, and the stem disconnected from the bulb as it fell. The delicate petals were trapped under the weight of the glass, some of the larger ones ripping in half because of the way they bent. There was a sound that reminded me of the sound the term squish would make.

I just stared, my mouth agape.

"Pat, I-"

"No it's okay, Pete. It wasn't your fault." But it was. It was, in fact, my fault. I was careless and went too deep, bleeding through my sleeve. This was my fault that Patrick's beautiful gift had been destroyed. My fault.

I knelt down to pick up the pieces with Pat, but he just looked up at me with a sad smile, saying, "It's alright Pete. I've got it."

I smiled as much as I could at the moment before getting up and walking to my bedroom.

I closed the door gently, plopping into the bed. I stared at the ceiling, and remembered about Mr. Sweatshirt's suffering and lifted up my arm to assess the damage.

I gently lifted and moved the sleeve from my arm, and judging by the amount of now unusable toilet paper, it was bad.

And I wasn't wrong.

I was greeted by a prompt drop of blood falling on my cheek when I lifted the toilet paper, and I cursed under my breath as I grabbed a handful of tissues and applied gentle pressure. I knew how to address a wound, I'd learned it from the many times I had gone just a tad too deep. I waited for about twenty five minutes before the bleeding had finally stopped. This one was bad, then.

A little bit later, I heard a knock on the door.

"Pete?" I heard from the other side. Oh shit. I still hadn't cleaned up and there were bloody tissues everywhere.

I quickly ran around the room, throwing the tissues into the bin and making sure everything looked alright. I yanked my hoodie on and tried to act nonchalant as I opened the bedroom door.

"Hey Pete!" He exclaimed, his face lighting up. I couldn't help but smile as he did, my insides warming up a little.

"Hi, Pat," I said, my smile small but happy all the same.

"Can I come in?" he asked, and I stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him.

The moonlight and gray sky streaming in through the windows have no need for a lamp to be on, and the light gave the room a comfortable atmosphere. I sat next to Pat on the bed, looking at his silhouette perfectly portrayed in the moonlight.

He smiled at me, as if he knew that I had a secret of sorts.

"What are you looking at?" he said with a small smile.

I replied with a, "Your beauty. It's so perfect. One second." I got up and made Patrick stay where he was as I went to my closet and fished around for what I was looking for until I found it.

An old Polaroid, worn down from prolonged use and slight decay from being in the closet for what feels like forever.

"Hold still." I turned off the flash so it wouldn't ruin his silhouette, and snapped the photo.

I put the Polaroid back in the closet and sat next to Pat, shaking the photo gently to let it fade in slowly.

The picture came into sight eventually. It was beautiful.

His trucker hat stuck out over the hair that flipped out in front of him, the hood on his jacket folded perfectly, and his arms had just the perfect space in between.

It was perfect.

Just like him.

I closed my eyes for a moment and when they opened again I was pulling away from Patrick's lips, his breath warm against my nose.

"I love you, Pete."

"Love you too, Pat."

I woke up to sobs and a tight grip on my arm. Ow. The searing pain shooting up through me didn't match the sobs. Something about this situation was different. I quickly tried to yank myself awake but half of me was asleep.

I don't know if it was when I placed the sobs to Patrick or the "Why, Pete, why?"s that ended up making my eyes shatter open.

I looked to my wrist to find a grip on the exact part of my body I wanted no one to see. Pat's hand was clenched around my wrist, unintentionally squeezing the cuts and just making more blood pour out. He sobbed and his eyes were darting around my face, probably looking for a response from me. It was really hard to find one, the best I could think up was weak.

"I, I'm, I'm sorry," was all I could say, but Pat wasn't having it.

"DONT YOU SAY SORRY TO ME, I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT FROM YOU. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS I AM SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU DO YOU KNOW THAT I CARE ABOUT YOU WERE YOU EVEN THINKING" His response was fast and pretty hard to put into complete and proper sentences. I made a move to put a clean, uncut arm on his shoulder, which usually calms him down the most, but he just brushed me off like I was trash and stood up.

"Don't try to talk to me for a while." That was all he had to say before leaving my room with a slam of both my and his door.

All my fault.

I eventually felt the tears drying and my eyeliner caking once more but even further down my cheeks and in my eyelids to the point that it had begun stinging.

I guess I needed to clean that up.

I made my way to the bathroom, my hunger not even fazing me because I had become so used to it on a daily basis that the dizziness would no longer make my knees buckle nor would I black out to a certain extent. It was just normal for me.

I closed the door quietly behind me and made sure to lock it. I turned on the faucet and soaked my hands, rubbing the eyeliner away with it. When I was satisfied I looked in the mirror. I expected to see a face worthy of Patrick's love, but all I saw were a pair of dead eyes and some faded eyeliner from tears.

I reached into the bottle of pills that were prescribed to me long ago and now hid my razor, fishing out the thin piece of metal. I closed my eyes for a solid second before I took the blade and dragged it gently across my skin, almost as if mapping a course for a ship. I nodded once I had decided what I were to do, and dug the blade right from the top of my wrist, dragging and gouging all the way to my elbow.

There was a knock. Four, to be exact.

There was a "Pete?" One, to be exact.

This repeated exactly twice before I had started to see spots. They clouded my vision, and next thing I knew, I had crumpled to the floor.

The small voice had turned to a shout, the knocks turned to bangs, and still zero responses from me.

Next thing I knew, the door had disappeared and Pat was hanging over my face, sobbing and begging words that were soon drowned out by a long, monotonous beeping noise. The spots had begun to completely cloud my vision. No, I wanted to see Pat. Spots, stop. I wanted to see Pat.

He was still sobbing and yelling, but the two were joined by bone chilling wails.

All three were drowned out by that beep though. All of his emotions on his face were suffocated by the spots.

And, with all four knocks, all two yells of my name, all of the many wails and sobs and yells in general, I gave one response. One response, made up of three words.

"I love you."

The spots became a blanket, blocking out Pat's beautiful face. The beep had now become something along the lines of a shriek. I could no longer feel Pat's fingers digging gently into my chest. I could feel nothing, as if the nothing was solid, I could feel it.

Pat, come back. I wanna see your face again. Pat, please.

The nothing seemed to push in on me, engulfing me so much that my thoughts themselves had been suffocated, every inch of me becoming the nothing.

And then, I was the nothing.

It's been two weeks without Pete by my side when I wake up.

Fall Out Boy's already done.

I was visited every day by Andy and Joe for about a week. Then, the visiting stopped. I had a new schedule. Sleep, and wake up to wishing I could be asleep again.

I refused to eat. What Andy and Joe had made me eat was all I had these two weeks. I could see myself becoming so thin people would be concerned if they saw me on the street. They didn't, of course, because I never left the house.

I would curl up in a ball and lay in the bed every day, just wishing that things would be better. But they never got better.

It was all my fault, I had gotten angry when I shouldn't have. I should've comforted him. But I didn't. I just got angry and in his face. It was all my fault.

I decided I would go outside for a little "trip."

I put on Pete's favorite of my trucker hats and my favorite jacket, the one that had started to smell like Pete.

His scent being so strong and present brought tears to my eyes. Before I knew it I was in a sobbing fit.

There were no tears. I had run out of those long ago.

My body racked, and my choked wails escaped my throat in an almost vomit-inducing manner.

I waited until I knew my face was no longer a suffocated red, and I looked to the bedside table. There sat that Polaroid photo. I gently lifted it off the table and inserted it into my pocket. And then, I set out.

I walked all the way to the outskirts of Chicago, where the forests began to appear.

I walked all the way to the middle of our favorite forest.

Nobody went there except us, we were the only ones that knew.

I found the treehouse just like we left it; cramped but filled with happiness.

I didn't want to have another round of sobs so I avoided the treehouse, instead sitting on our bridge.

It was small but it went over an almost abyss-like cliff that feel to a river. It was really small and not too long of a drop but the rocks were sharp enough to rip you to shreds.

I missed Pete. His smile, his hair, everything about him. I missed him.

I needed him.

All I had left was his scent and that Polaroid that he took. I took it out of my pocket and looked over it. In all honesty, it was beautiful. Because it reminded me of Pete.

Without him my brokenness was excruciating. The pain would never leave.

I love Pete Wentz.

It was torturous to not be by his side.

And the torture had become too much; I had been eaten alive.

So, I fixed that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ello! I'm back once again with another Peterick that made my best friend cry. Hallo, Hannah. I suppose you are reading this ^.^ **

**So, the story.**

**This one, I'm not sure what to exactly call it. So, I will describe it as what my friend described it as.**

**'It messes wit yo damnizzle nogginizzle.' So, I guess it shall be considered psychological. Just for the record, I can almost guarantee you will have questions about what happens. If you do, I will most definitely answer them.**

**[Ship:Peterick],[Genre:nogginizzle messin wizzle, fluff aside from that, and the messin wizzle is fucking sad my friend.]**

Shattered Windows and Broken Dreams (typically on empty boulevards)

My head hurt.

I was dizzy.

Where am I?

Smoke was filling my lungs. My foot was caught on something metal.

My trucker hat was pushed up from the back, tilting so it covered my face. I reached to fix it, but my right hand was stuck under something. Ow, that hurt to move. My right hand wasn't broken, was it? One twitch of my elbow confirmed my suspicions.

Damnit.

I settled for fixing my hat with my left hand instead.

I tried to look around, but when I opened my eyes without the trucker hat being a sort of umbrella, my eyes stung in the grey smoke that was around me.

I breathed, smoke. Gah, that is disgusting.

I could do nothing but imagine how much damage the smoke would do to my voice when I heard a distant, "Guys?" accompanied by a grunt or two from around me.

A piece of metal shifted quickly on top of my hand, and I wasn't prepared for the radiating pain that shot up my arm and seeped throughout my body so quickly, I blacked out.

I woke up again, this time the area eerily quiet. Not good.

I put more effort into squirming out from underneath whatever was on top of me. There was metal everywhere, and I still couldn't open my eyes from the smoke. Where was I and what was going on?

I made sure my trucker hat was in tact with my left hand and once I was satisfied, set to work on freeing my broken hand.

I felt the area around my hand without touching it so as not to send pain shooting up through my arm again, guessing which way was up and lifting, eventually freeing the hand.

Now I just have to get out.

I shimmied up enough to know I was laying on a leather seat that was practically ripped to shreds, and that I was on the ground, which was very dusty.

I twisted around, and managed to yank myself out from my prison, jumping up as soon as I did.

I winced when my hand swung as I turned around, and I cringed when I saw what was before me.

There sat, or more laid, the wreckage of the Fall Out Car. Blood was lining the battered seats, but not a lot. My seat was the closest to the ground, at an angle so awkward the car had practically sagged towards it, which explained my prison. There was smoke coming from the hood, flooding out and falling before permeating throughout the fresh air.

The entire top of the car was peeled off, similar to that of a sardine can.

What worried me most was that I couldn't see my friends. I looked around, they were nowhere to be found. Where did they go, and more importantly, why did they leave me?

I started to walk, the empty road not going to be occupied by a car any time soon.

I finally found a gas station about a mile up. I went in and asked to get a tow truck up to where our Fall Out Car had been totaled. The guy nodded and dialed a number, saying to go wait by the car for the tow truck. I bought a can of Monster, and tipped my hat on the way out.

I figured it would be easiest to wait for the guys at the place where it happened just in case they came back anyways, so I went and plopped down at the car.

Just to make sure, I yelled as loud as I could, "Guys?" and to my delight I heard someone yell, "Patrick?" from the shade of the trees. Pete.

"Pete!" I yelled. "I'm back at the car!"

I saw his black shiny hair come into view, and directly after came the rest of him. He was in a hoodie and skinny jeans, a chain jingling at his pocket. His Converse were scuffed up with dirt, and part of the fabric was torn on the tongue of the sneaker. Looking closer, most of his clothing was torn. His skinny jeans had a massive slash on the knee that I thought was just part of the pants, and he had a t-shirt on that had a major rip across the front. His hoodie covered most of that rip.

His shirt was stained with blood, and his fringe stuck to his face, glued to his forehead by more blood.

I held my arms out and he ran faster, practically jumping into them.

"Holy smokes, Pete, you must be happy to see me," I laughed, and his grip tightened. He pulled away, but only so he could move his head a little to plant a kiss on my lips.

"We thought you died because you wouldn't wake up," he said against my lips.

"I wouldn't do that. I love you, remember?" I laughed against his lips, and we smiled into the kiss.

"C'mon guys, get a room!" I heard from behind Pete, and I pulled away to see Andy.

"Andy! Where's Joe?" I asked, not seeing him next to Andy.

"Back heeeere!" he called, still in the shade of the trees. He was limping, but moving all the same.

"Is he okay?" I asked, and they shrugged.

"We're not doctors, but it might be broken," Pete said.

We waited patiently for Joe to catch up, the hot sun beating down on us.

Once he did, we all plopped down in front of the Fall Out Car, just taking in the fact that it was gone. I rested my hand on it, but quickly yanked it away when the metal burned.

"It's really hot today, guys," I commented, and they nodded.

I remembered my can of Monster and cracked it open, taking a sip and passing it to Pete, who in turn took a sip. Andy and Joe declined, and Pete and I took turns with drinking the Monster before it was eventually gone.

"Mmm," I said happily as I reached the end of the can, smiling. Pete scooted over to me, leaning his head on my shoulder. I leaned back on the leather seat, and Pete ended up laying down on my chest. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a horn honking and looked to see a tow truck.

I waved, and the driver was already getting out and walking around to the car.

"Hi," I said with an awkward smile.

"Looks we got a bad one," he commented, his mustache moving as he talked.

"Yeah, we really didn't expect that to happen," I laughed. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head slowly, going back to work on turning the car over with a cable attached to the truck. What's his problem.

"So you on yer way to somethin'?" he asked, obviously uncomfortable. Hmm, what happened to him? Is it me? Are we that awkward?

"Nah, we were just driving home from something." Pete had rested his arms on my shoulder, placing his head in the crook of his arms as he watched the tow guy intently. Again, the man looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright. I'll call someone to come get you." I shook my head, shaking off Pete by accident.

"No, we can just walk home." I looked back to the guys, who nodded.

The guy stared for a second before shaking his head and clutching his forehead.

"Whatever you say, kid. I'm gonna take the car to the junk yard, it can't be saved. Sorry kid." I nodded solemnly, looking to the Fall Out Car for the last time before the guy got into his truck and sped off.

I waved, and so did the guys.

"So guys," I said, turning around to face them. "It's really gone, then. The Fall Out Car is gone." They nodded, and Pete wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm sorry, I was driving. It was my fault," he said, but I cut off his sentence with mine.

"Pete, shut up, because even if you were driving, it doesn't matter." I smiled, hugging him tightly.

"Cmon, guys, we should start walking, and limping," Andy said, eyeing Joe as he said the last part.

"Shut up Andy," Joe said, already starting his slow limp home.

We laughed and set out to get back home.

When we finally got home, Joe was exhausted but the rest of us were just tired since Joe had managed to take until around three in the morning to limp back to the city and we only had to keep it to a really slow walk.

"Jesus, Joe, that thing better be fucking shattered," Pete groaned, our house finally in sight.

"So, now that the Fall Out Car is totaled, guess you guys will be crashing on our couch tonight.

"Okay," Joe said, already getting his headstart for the door. We sighed, following after him.

Once Andy and Joe were on the couch and probably about to fall asleep, Pete and I settled into our bed. I felt his soft skin on mine, our boxers the only thing we were wearing.

"I'm sorry about the Fall Out Car," Pete said, kissing my hair. I smiled, he was so sweet.

"Don't apologize, it wasn't your fault. Listen," I turned around to face him, "Tomorrow, we'll go and look around for the Fall Out Car 2.0," I said, and he grinned.

I laughed, kissing his hair and turning around again.

It didn't take me long to fall asleep, Pete's breathing putting me to sleep.

The next day, we did exactly what I had said and searched for contenders for the Fall Out Car 2.0.

We left Andy and Joe sleeping on the couch, they looked pretty peaceful and we didn't to disturb them.

We looked through what felt like a billion places, but none of them seemed to be the right one.

Frustrated, we went to a diner.

Pete linked his arm with mine as we walked in quietly.

The lady came around, asking, "You waitin' for anyone?" and when I shook my head, she led Pete and me to the back of the diner, plopping down a single menu.

I frowned slightly but didn't say anything, not wanting to come off as rude.

Pete and I looked over the menu, and when the lady came around, we said our orders.

"I'll have the vegetarian panini?" he asked. The lady didn't even acknowledge him, her eyes trained intently on me.

"Can I have a BLT with fries, please?" I asked, handing her the menu. She nodded, winking as she walked away.

"What the fuck was that wink all about?" Pete asked angrily, and I gave him a look, and he calmed down.

"Sorry, Patrick," he said quietly, and I smiled.

"It's okay." We didn't wait that long for our food to come out, and when it did, Pete was furious.

"What the hell where's my food?" he asked, as the girl smiled and set down my plate, I quietly thanked her and she turned away with a flip of her hair, Pete still yelling curses at her.

"What even?" he asked, and I shrugged. He pouted for a moment before snatching a fry from me.

I smiled, holding in a giggle.

He was so cute when he was angry, his fringe would fall in his face and his lips would close more as he bit on the inside of his lips, a habit I knew he had.

"Take as many as you want." I smiled, taking another bite of BLT.

"I would take half of your fucking sandwich but bacon," he said, grumpily devouring yet another fry. I just smiled.

We left a small tip at that diner.

The girl was nice though, she fancied me. Gave me her number on a napkin. I took it politely but on the way out threw it into the trash outside.

"What the hell was that about?" Pete asked, and I shrugged.

"At least I didn't keep her number," I pointed out with a giggle, and Pete looked at me with a death glare and I knew it wasn't the time for it.

We walked home in silence. Halfway through, Pete linked arms with mine again. I smiled.

When we got home, Andy and Joe were sitting on the couch, talking.

"Hey guys. Find the next Fall Out Car?" Joe asked, and we shook our heads.

"Shit," Andy said and we all nodded.

"Well, I say. How about we talk to our manager and see if we can get some cash for the Fall Out Car 2.0," I said, and they agreed. "I'll call one of our friends and ask them to pick us up."

Fifteen minutes later, one of our friends, Tanya, pulled up in her cute little car. We walked out and got in.

"Hey Patrick," Tanya said, and I smiled.

"Hi Tanya," I said back.

"Just you, then?" she asked, and I looked at her.

"Um no, the guys are coming to the studio too." I gestured to them in the back seat. Tanya turned around and the guys waved.

"Patrick," she said slowly.

"Hmm?" I hummed.

She looked at me and said, "The guys aren't back there."

"What are you talking about Tanya? They're right there." I pointed at them as they looked at Tanya, confused.

"Hi," Pete said, but Tanya didn't answer.

"Patrick. I'm telling you, they are not there. You're scaring me." She took out her phone.

"Patrick, I think you have a concussion from that crash you said you got in, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"What no, I don't need to go! They're right there, I swear!"

"You need help, Patrick."

-Two weeks later-

I sat on my bed, looking at Pete as he talked to me.

"I don't know what she's saying, I mean, I'm here. In the flesh. If I weren't here, I wouldn't be able to touch you." He placed his hand on my shoulder. "See? Touching you." I nodded in agreement.

"I just don't get it, Pete. How come only I can see you guys?" He shrugged.

"I'm not a ghost, or else I'd be going right through you." I grunted an agreement, not really in the mood for talking, just thinking.

"What's wrong Patrick?" he asked, leaning his head on my shoulder.

"I don't understand. This is not happening. I am not sitting here right now, you aren't invisible to like everyone except me, I am dreaming, I do not need help." Pete hugged me, and I calmed down as he wrapped his arms around me.

"It's okay, Patrick. As long as we love each other, everything is good." I nodded.

"I'm gonna go home, the bed isn't the same without you next to me in it." He kissed my forehead and leaned his head in front of mine to let me kiss his.

He got up, and with a wave of his hand and a swing of the door, he had left.

"Not here right now," I murmured, tipping myself backwards to plop on the bed.

I voice my opinion to the wall. I know people can hear me; if I mention too much peas or not enough unidentifiable meat, I would get the small changes made in my food the next day.

"This coat won't let my arms move," I voiced. I always voice about my jacket, I never get any changes made.

"C'mon, my hands are numb and I can't even see them since they're wrapped around my back! Please!" I called desperately, exhausted from lack of sleep. "Please..."

I shook my elbows, which only resulted in me slightly bouncing on the bed. I stiffened my body, since if I fell it would be a burden to get up since no hands.

I kicked the wall angrily, but my foot bounced right back. The wall was soft. I wonder why that is.

In one desperate try before I fell asleep, I sucked in a breath and calmed myself down the only way I knew how.

I sang.

"When I wake up, I'm willing to take my chances on the hope I forget that you hate him more than you notice I wrote this for you.

You need him. I could be him...

I could be an accident but I'm still trying.

That's more than I can say for him.

Where is your boy tonight? I hope he is a gentleman.

Maybe he won't find out what I know: you were the last good thing about this part of town.

Someday I'll appreciate in value, get off my ass and call you...in the meantime I'll sport my

brand new fashion of waking up with pants on at 4:00 in the afternoon.

You need him. I could be him...

I could be an accident but I'm still trying.

That's more than I can say for him."

-Pete's POV-

"Hey Patrick," I said, walking into our room. "I got us stuff for a picnic in celebration of getting the Fall Out Car 2.0!"

He grinned, "Really? Yes! Let's go now!"

I laughed at his excitement, running up and hugging him.

I climbed on top of the bed next to him, laying and staring up at the ceiling.

I looked at him and he looked back.

I leaned in and pecked his lips, giggling slightly and looking in his eyes.

"I love you Patrick," I said with a smile, and he smiled, saying the same.

"Pete? Is that you?" I heard Joe from the hallway.

"Yeah," I said, and he stuck his head in.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked slowly.

"Patrick," I said, giving him a look as I looked between him and Patrick.

"Um, Pete," he said. I raised an eyebrow for him to speak.

"There's no one there."

**Okay. So if you have any questions, ask away!**

**I'm watching this documentary called The Most Hated Family In America (1 of 8) I would like to punch the mother. Basically, they're saying alot about how gays need to die and they go to soldiers' funerals amd make protests. They call the soldiers' funerals worshipping the dead. The mother raised her eleven children to be homophobes and telling the 'fags' they need to die. One of their fucking picket signs said 'Thank god for 9/11.' That makes me want to bash their heads into a wall. They also speak about how Jewish people are automatically gay and 'fags', that the Holocaust was punishment to the Jewish people. Oh and they think Obama is the antichrist. Yep. That family angers me so much. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Ello! Okay guys I'm still working on a thing and I just wrote this tiny little thing based off a Frerard titled ****A Splitting Of The Mind****. My tears were so abundant when reading that fanfiction so even if you don't read bandom or like Frerard or My Chemical Romance, I urge you guys to read it and love it and cry over it and feeeeeeels. Okay Iknow this is short, but this is mostly just a reminder that I know you guys exist and that I still write.**

**So without further ado, **_**Them.**_

Do you know that sort of moment where you know you saw the lights flicker for that split second, or brighten and dim right back to their original state in a matter of milliseconds?

Do you know that sort of moment when a silver dot drifts across your vision, looking like a piece of glitter under a spotlight?

Do you know that sort of moment when you shift your eyes and there's that flash of moment in the corner of your eye, or in the side of the mirror?

Have you ever told someone about these sorts of moments? No? Good.

They can't know that you see _them_.

_They_ are everywhere, hiding.

_They_ hear you.

_They _know about you.

_They know_.

Don't let _them_ hear you, don't speak a word.

Hide, don't let _them_ find you.

Run, for _they_ are chasing.

And most of all,

Be careful, for _they_ are coming.


End file.
